yes i know
poetry is for paper
but goodness if i could just burn the inkstains off
these fingers i just want you to
hear
how loud my heart talks
i'm sorry i can't keep
my hands the ink
the blood to myself
words are all i've given away
but for people like you
i think i could never write enough

do not underestimate how
flammable my blood is; i will spill
all over these bridges and you
will ******* forget about me
remember the smoke after, you leave your
PITY on my doorstep and you will
watch how i set the flowers alight
and smear the ashes all over my door
you will not find home here anymore
i am an arsonist to my bones
my heart is the pyre, please just
leave me in the fire

i hear her coming before her shadow steps over the door
she smells like silence like rain dragging its *****
fingers down my windows in the dark like waking up
next to your own dead body like watching your
fingers fade when you hold on so tight so tight
you don't notice you've been holding your breath
two months long she comes and she goes; the things
i would do for a lock on this door, the people i will
fall for in the corridors, bleeding fingers leave
graffiti down the staircase it's raining inside, and
she slips in anyway my skin is her resting place i know
it when the quiet is drowning me and my thoughts i know it
when she swallows my pulse i know it when she drags me
down
my gentle little anchor
take me where you will
you know i'll come up for air
when i don't need it anymore